


Subject XIII: Save Me From Myself

by Sethrine



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Confusion, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Heartbreak, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-10 15:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10440879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sethrine/pseuds/Sethrine
Summary: Two years of torture and experimentation had you on the run, accidentally coming into contact with a group of unlikely individuals claiming to be the newly reformed Overwatch, a group many had, at one time, looked to for the hope of the future, and they wanted to get to the bottom of what exactly happened to you.The funny thing about it? You have never heard of Overwatch or those who claim to have been there from the start.Even funnier? You were once part of Overwatch, with those very members being your close friends and, for one particular cowboy, your lover of nearly ten years.Just what the hell had happened to you?





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try my hand at story building so that I can work more on my writing. I've been mulling this whole idea over in my head for literally months, having changed the idea time and time again in the initial planning of it all. I still don't have everything planned out like I wanted, but it was making me sick just letting these first few chapters just sit there with no other purpose other than to taunt me. And I even had to do a whole thing of edits and revisions this past week due to a subject change that I felt was necessary....
> 
> Regardless, I am putting my heart into this piece, and I hope you guys come along with me on the ride. It's gonna be a hell of a thing, lemme tell ya.
> 
> I would love any and all feedback, comments, anything you guys can think up to tell me! This will be a full on learning experience for me, and your voices are very much appreciated on this journey.
> 
> Enjoy this first chapter, you guys. There's so much more ahead. :)

_Dangerous._

_Unpredictable._

_A threat to one’s self as well as others._

These were words that Jesse McCree was all too familiar with. He’d been on the receiving end of such terms on many occasions, once upon a time. He’d done some things he wasn’t proud of back then, had made stupid, careless decisions in his youth that he would undoubtedly be paying the price for until the day he died. Even so, he was given the chance to change all that, had made himself what some would consider a better person, thanks to Blackwatch. Even if things between them and Overwatch went to shit years ago, he was still able to retain that sense of good in hopes of redeeming himself of his past crimes. 

In the eyes of his comrades, those terms no longer applied to him, never really did, considering his youth and the easy way he had fallen in line back then under the watchful eye of his late Commander. Such descriptions were better left to those that served to disrupt the balance and goodness of the world, people he now sought out to stop at all costs to preserve the peace that was already in shambles across the globe. 

Imagine his surprise, then, when those very words were thrown around to describe the woman lying before him, resting peacefully in a near comatose state after a long procedure of healing from Dr. Zeigler many hours before. 

Granted, he had shown up late to the fight, had no idea that having been called in for backup wasn’t just because of the numerous groups of Talon operatives that just so happened to be swarming the area. In fact, he wasn’t meant to join the team at all, but a last-minute issue in the opposite direction left the initial group three members short, and the others were too far away to assist in the fight. 

When he arrived at the point, Dr. Zeigler was already in the process of mending Winston, who looked equal parts worried and furious for being knocked out of the fray. He could hear the gunfire in the distance, as well as just being able to make out Tracer blipping around, pulse pistols firing rapidly as she darted through the air. Whatever was going on, it must have been big. 

Winston had looked startled at his presence, had been about ready to dismiss him and tell him his help wasn’t necessary, though Mercy had given him a look that McCree could only describe as imploringly firm, and his decision changed abruptly. 

With a bit of reluctance, Winston had sent him out into the shit storm ahead to help the others, telling him beforehand that comms were down, and to keep his next words in mind: the objective is unpredictably dangerous; upon approach, stand down, do not engage. An odd request, yes, but he had no time to dwell on the matter, running off into the fight with a tilt of his hat in understanding. The others would surely understand the meaning, if he needed any more clarification. 

He had run into several scattered groups of the enemy on his way to the rest of the team, taking them out with precision, and even bypassed Bastion at one point with a nod of acknowledgement sent in the combat robot’s direction. He continued on his way, taking out more enemies on his way, then came to a stop just on the other side of the main fight. A large, abandoned building stood between him and the chaos, but what gave him pause was the startling scene of a large group of downed Talon operatives and a lone figure kneeling in the middle of them, facing away from him. 

McCree had been cautious with his next approach, and rightfully so. The figure was that of a woman attempting to catch her breath in choking gasps, who looked like she had been through hell and back, clothes tattered and skin and hair smudged with dirt and sweat. Dark crimson bloomed along her side and was moving across her back in a slow climb, possibly from a newly acquired wound he could not readily see. She was not one of the initial team members, nor did it seem like she was the enemy, if the fallen operatives were anything to go by. Even so, he kept Peacekeeper steady in his hand. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he’d called out, and instantly she ducked her head and twisted at the hip, both hands sporting pistols unwaveringly aimed at him. Practiced and precise. His motion to duck and move to the side had been pure instinct to avoid the shots that never came. The movement ultimately stopped his approach, eyes carefully assessing his new opponent from a distance. 

She was scuffed up pretty badly, her arms bruised and a gash against her right cheek streaking her somewhat obscured face with fresh blood, brows furrowed in what he guessed was pain at the angle of her twist pulling at the hidden wound along her side. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and held a strange, unnatural glow to them, lips set in a frown and slightly parted as she continued to steady her breathing. She hadn’t attempted to shoot him, at least not yet, and though she looked ready to let loose a hail of bullets, he had a strong feeling that she wouldn’t, if he played his cards right. 

“You’re lookin’ mighty rough around the edges, there,” McCree had commented lightly, spurs chinking as he stepped closer slowly, methodically. Her eyes had been stuck to his every movement; her arms had held firm in their aim. She was being cautious, too, unsure of his intentions. He understood the sentiment. 

“We got ourselves a healer, real kind and gentle-like. She could look you over, if you want.” 

The glare she’d been sporting began to falter, hands shifting their grip on the guns just a fraction. Jesse stopped his approach several yards away from her at the action, hindered by the unconscious or dead bodies of Talon operatives at his feet, by the still-possible threat of a shot to the head, and the sudden, unexplainable feeling of familiarity. He had given what he’d hoped was a gentle enough smile, trusting his gut instinct and replacing his revolver in its holster at his side, hands fanning out to show her he was without a weapon. A stupid, reckless decision he had hoped at the time wouldn’t backfire on him. 

“I ain’t here to hurt ya, darlin’. I’m just wantin’ to help the best way I can, if you’ll let me.” 

All at once, the intimidating aura around the woman had disappeared, guns dropping to the ground with a clatter as her arms fell to her sides heavily. Her eyes were almost doe-like as she looked up at him, wide and watery and no longer containing that strange glow they held just seconds ago. She looked like a completely different woman, vulnerable and haunted in that moment, as if she had no way to defend herself despite having been pointing loaded guns at him mere seconds ago. She looked downright _scared,_ and hell, Jesse was no better. 

Surely, what he had seen before him was a figment of his imagination, a ghost of a memory now standing right in front of him of a woman he thought dead. 

“(Y/n)?” 

“I...I didn’t-” 

_“Nerf this!”_

McCree had only a moment to prepare for the blast, unable to counter the force of which blew him backward into the nearest wall. He gave a heavy grunt at the hard hit, taking a minute to right himself as the dust and rubble began to settle. D.Va had been standing in the middle of what once was the building between him and the main fight, looking every bit pleased with herself. Tracer appeared by her side in a blip of movement, quickly followed by Genji. 

The fight, for the time being, had ended. 

“You made quite the mess’a them, love,” Tracer commented, giving the younger woman a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. 

“Yes, while a rather brash move, it proved effective,” Genji followed up, surveying the damage and almost instantly catching sight of McCree as the cowboy stood. “Jesse, they sent you? Surely Winston would not have…” 

The cyborg’s gaze had then shifted even further to the side. 

“You found her, then. I am sorry you got to her first, my friend.” 

McCree turned his own gaze to the left, finding the woman he had spoken to right before the blast… _you_... lying unconscious, body pressed close against the wall. Your breaths had been shallow, but it was to be expected, given your overall state. You had looked so different before, almost feral. 

_The objective is unpredictably dangerous; upon approach, stand down, do not engage._

What the hell had happened to you? 

Jesse had volunteered to carry your unconscious form back to the safe house where Dr. Zeigler could properly wrap your wounds and stop any bleeding until you could be transported to the temporary Overwatch HQ. After a two-hour travel and yet another two hours waiting beside the infirmary doors, he then volunteered to keep watch as you rested. Though there were a few firm words exchanged, Jesse was allowed the first watch with the promise of letting someone else take over after a few hours. 

He’d done that nearly ten hours ago. Besides some small shifts of your head or small, breathy sighs through your nose, you hadn’t shown any signs of waking up anytime soon. 

Looking at you now, it was almost like looking at a different woman from the one he knew. Angela had done amazing work healing your injuries and had even cleaned you up, as best she could, given the circumstances. Under all that dirt and grime had been lightly marred skin and long, dulled hair, now carefully pulled back and to the side for convenience. You looked peaceful in sleep, not at all like the broken, nearly hostile woman he had encountered almost fifteen hours before. 

Not at all like the woman he had last seen nearly two years ago. 

Your hair was so much longer than he remembered, darker, and there were fresh scars along your forearms and hands, possibly even more beneath the clean clothes you’d been dressed in, that hadn’t been there when he last saw you. The softness of your cheeks had sunken in, as you were much thinner than he remembered, and it made him sick. 

Hell, maybe he was just projecting. After all, he’d been going strong for nearly a full thirty-six hours on nothing but coffee and the two shots of whiskey he’d downed to relax him after arriving back at the base. 

He should have gotten someone else to take his place after the first four hours, as both Soldier and Winston had wanted sharp eyes on the potential threat to Overwatch HQ, a threat McCree wasn’t sure he was able to see. No one who looked that frightened, that haunted, could be a threat to them, at least not willingly, not consciously, and especially not you. 

There were things that weren’t adding up, either, now that he was thinking about it more. Winston wasn’t giving any details, likely because he only knew the bare minimum, and Soldier was keeping his mouth sealed shut on the matter of your sudden resurgence from God-knows-where until he returned from Ilios, meaning there was something more at play. He already gathered that Talon was the one behind your disappearance, but was there a specific reason as to why they took you in the first place? How did you escape? 

More importantly, what exactly happened before he found you out there, surrounded by fallen operatives? It wasn’t unheard of for one agent to take on groups of the enemy, but being surrounded, especially with fifteen to twenty opponents against a single individual…it would have proven to be a difficult, if not impossible, task to take them all out in such a short timespan, and while you had always prided yourself in your combat skills, they wouldn’t have been enough with the way you had most likely been swarmed, especially in your current state. How had you taken them out on your own? 

Damn, he felt like he needed another drink. He’d have been inclined to do just that, retire to his room with a bottle of good whiskey and the call of his slightly worn down mattress to keep him company, but he couldn’t shake the want to keep close to you, just in case something were to happen. This time, he could stop it. This time, he wouldn’t feel guilty for letting you slip out of his grasp. 

Jesus, what the fuck had happened to you since you disappeared? 

“Oi, what’s this? What are you still doing on watch, Jesse?” 

The cowboy tipped his head back to see a confused looking Tracer staring down at him from just behind his chair, hands on her hips and her mouth forming into a stern pout. He gave her a weary, lopsided grin, eyes moving back to the unconscious woman as he gave a gruff sigh. 

“Guess I lost track of time. That’s a good enough excuse, ain’t it?” 

“Hardly enough to keep Soldier from giving you a good lashin’ out through video feed if he finds out you’re still here. When’s the last time you had a bite? Proper rest?” 

McCree scratched at the scruff of his beard, thinking back as he gave a tired hum. 

“When did I come back from my last official mission?” 

“Jesse!” 

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m only messin’ with ya. Ain’t like I haven’t had some rest here n’ there, a snack or two. Enough to keep me goin’, at least.” 

“Well, that won’t do you a bit of good! You need _real_ food, _real_ sleep,” Tracer argued quietly, arms now crossing over her chest. Her voice softened considerably after, and an understanding frown crossed her features. “It’s time you had a break, love. I can take over for now. I’ll even let you know if anything changes as soon as it happens.” 

Jesse couldn’t even find it in himself to dissuade the Brit, worn as he was. Instead, he gave a low, sleepy grunt. 

“You drive a hard bargain….” 

“Alright, then, off with you!” Tracer exclaimed gently as she took his words as him agreeing with her terms, hands now pushing at the mercenary’s shoulder to urge him into movement. He gave a low chuckle while moving to his feet a bit sluggishly. 

“It’s like you’re tryin’ to get rid of me, or somethin’,” he commented, his tone light and teasing. 

“I’m only worried for you, is all. No need in losing sleep when you’ve got a whole team to help with the load, right? Now, go on, before the others catch sight of you lingerin’ about!” 

McCree gave another chuckle at the push against his arm meant to move him closer to the door and followed suit, spurs clinking gently with each step. At the entryway, he turned back, eyes lingering on your comatose state a moment longer before his gaze found Tracer’s own. He tipped his hat in farewell, Tracer giving a nod and a wave of her hand as he finally made his way out of the infirmary and down the hall, hopefully toward his room for a good rest. 

You were in good hands, he had to remind himself as he walked further away from the infirmary. You were in good hands, Tracer would make sure you were alright. 

Once McCree had left the room, Tracer turned her attention to you, watching your resting form for a long while with the slightest frown. 

“Let’s hope you’re not as dangerous as they’re making you out to be, love. Might break a heart or two around here.”


	2. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fight-or-flight. You were tired of fighting. You only wanted out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the sweet comments! I'm glad y'all are looking forward to what I have planned!
> 
> Here's chapter 2!

_Out…get it…._

_Please, get…stop, it’s still….much…._

_Out…me. Get it out…me. Get it out of me. Get it out of me. Get it out, get it out-_

“Get it out!” 

You awoke with a start, a harsh gasp leaving your lips and hands clutching at your side where phantom pains of a wound long healed bloomed out across your skin. Someone had shot you, you think, the bullet having grazed just above your hip, ripping and burning the flesh all at once. Or maybe you’d been stabbed there during a scuffle of some sort. You couldn’t remember; you never did after an intense blackout. 

Two months on the run made you realize there were just some things you couldn’t get used to, such as the constant, nagging feeling of being watched, the possibility of guns and razor sharp weapons being aimed and pointed and thrown at you…and the inevitability of being hurt in the skirmish. That last bit didn’t happen to you often, thank God. You were really good on your feet, quiet and easily able to slip by any unwanted company when things got rowdy. There were times, though, when you _did_ get injured, and it never ended well for the attacker. 

As the memory of pain eased, so, too, did the fog of heavy sleep from your mind. You realized that you were no longer on the streets as you had been before you were found, nor were you holed up in some abandoned building, awaiting your next chance to flee. Instead, you were in a pristinely kept room with gentle lighting, now sitting up in a weirdly comfortable cot with several more lined up to your left, empty and awaiting use. Your clothes, once torn and filthy, had been replaced by a simple white shirt, the length of it enough to almost call it a gown, and a matching pair of loose cotton pants, the material feeling almost foreign against your skin. 

You took a mental assessment of your body, and besides the dull ache of sore limbs and the vague remembrance of once having injuries but finding none, you felt relatively good. Too good, in fact. 

These small changes should have been a comfort, in some sense. Instead, they only made your heart beat frantically behind your ribcage and your breathing quicken within your chest at the rising panic you tried desperately to calm. Had they finally caught you this time? What did they plan on doing to you for escaping and taking down so many of their operatives? 

How much more experimentation would your body, your _mind,_ be able to take? 

In your state of distress, you almost missed the voices sounding from outside the room, the echoes of two people conversing getting closer and closer. In a quick, knee-jerk reaction, you shuffled out of the bed, nearly falling from the cot in your haste, and ran to the other side of the room, tucking yourself away in the shadows of a corner sectioned off by a large chair and a short partition in the wall. Just as you were able to make out a figure coming through the entranceway, you pulled back and pressed as far into the shadowed corner as possible, evening out your breaths into a calm tempo so as not to alert the newcomers of your position. 

“…no problem, love! I understand. Time gets the best of us, these days. You sure you’re up for it?” 

“Don’t worry. My training was long, but not tiring. This will be easy as cake.” 

“That’s the spirit! Now…uh….” 

The voices tapered off suddenly as there was a frantic shuffle of what sounded like cloth, possibly the bedsheets being moved around. A gasp followed, and more shuffling and a strange pulsing, beam-like sound whipped through the air a handful of times before a whine of distress left one of the two women - you were pretty sure they were women, at least. Your hands tightened around the fabric of your clothes anxiously, fight-or-flight beginning to bubble up within you. 

“It looks like the patient has vanished.” 

“I don’t understand! She was dead asleep, and I’ve not been gone five minutes!” 

“She will not have gone far, then. Come, let’s go. Perhaps someone has seen her.” 

“Let’s hope not. McCree would never forgive me, and Soldier would have my head.” 

The voices began to decrease in volume, footsteps echoing away from the room as the two women who had entered left. You waited another minute in the mounting silence before slowly moving from the corner, peeking around the partition to find an empty room, the bed you had awoken in looking even more rumpled than before. 

You couldn’t stay in your hiding spot for much longer, not when your captors could return at any moment. 

This place you had been brought to didn’t look like one of the facilities you’d been held in before, but you were far from where you were once housed. If they had, indeed, found you, transport would have taken you to the closest facility for healing. Reprogramming always followed, and you hoped dearly you could avoid it and escape once again. They had the upper hand at the moment, but you were smarter than they gave you credit. 

Slowly, cautiously, you stood and made your way to the open entranceway, bare feet making no sound against the smooth flooring. You peeked out into the corridor, eyes darting to either side and finding no one around. There were no immediate sounds coming from either direction, and you had no idea which way the two women had run off, but staying idle was no longer an option. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you moved into the large hallway and turned to the left, following the path until it reached a large open room with several other corridors branching out from it. The ceiling was made like a dome, with steel support beams connecting in a honeycomb pattern across the metal paneling. To the right of you was a large staircase that led to another story of the facility, the steps ending in their ascent with another open floorplan, as far as you could tell, and branching off in two more directions. 

So far, not a clear exit in sight. 

Biting at your lip, you chose the corridor farthest from you, the hall much shorter and widening to a set of enormous, thick metal doors that looked rather intimidating and slightly off-putting compared to what you’d seen of the rest of the facility. Nevertheless, you moved closer, pressing against the glowing holo-panel beside the frame of which opened the sliding doors with a faint whooshing sound. Instantly, you were greeted with the familiar sight of bright sunlight and brilliant green grass, and the feel of warm, late summer air against your face was a comfort to your senses. 

For a moment, your heart leapt with the joy of having found your way outside, until a better look at the area brought to your attention that, even though it was plenty open, the area was closed in by high-rise, reinforced walls. There was a shooting range in the distance, as well as various practice dummies, some weight-lifting equipment, and a large storage unit that tapered off and connected to the building you were currently in through another doorway. 

What you had thought was an exit was actually the entrance to spacious training grounds, and from your position, you could just make out someone fiddling with something off to the side. Not a moment later, there was a loud blast and a bright flash of sparks, closely followed by delighted cackling. It was enough to deter you from moving any farther, hands pressing against the holo-panel until the door closed with a strangely quiet _schnick._

You backtracked with quick, light movements, hastily finding your way back to the open area with the skylight. Anxiety was starting to set in as the feeling of being caged crept upon you. It was only a matter of time before they found you wandering about. 

Glancing around quickly, you made the decision to check out the corridor closest to the stairwell, running up to it and just barely clearing the opening when you froze in your spot, heart nearly seizing in your chest. 

At the very end of the corridor was a woman, a tall, massive woman with short, vibrant pink hair and arm muscles that looked the size of your head, if not bigger. You let out an involuntary gasp at the sight of her, feeling the prickling beginnings of fear climb up your spine as she turned and spotted you. For the longest time, it felt as if you couldn’t breathe. 

“Ah, you must be the patient,” she spoke, voice thick with a Russian accent you recognized from earlier. She was one of the two women whom you had hidden from. “We’ve been looking for you. You have my friend very anxious.” 

She took a small step forward, her boot giving a heavy thump against the floor. Your body took over then, and like a bullet, you shot in the other direction, turning to run up the stairwell in hopes of confusing her. You didn’t know where you were headed and only vaguely realized that running up to the second floor wasn’t the greatest idea, but if you could get her off your trail long enough, could keep her from grabbing you and triggering a set of events that would likely end in bloodshed, you would be able to slip back downstairs and, hopefully, find your way out before more trouble found you. 

You rounded corner after corner, ducking behind small areas as your pursuer passed by and sneaking in the opposite direction, only to hear her footfalls behind you a moment later. There were several doors you had tried going through, but it was as if all of them were suddenly offline, panels glowing red and unable to be opened without a pass code you didn’t possess. 

At one point, you paused behind a small alcove near the stairwell, having somehow rounded back to the open flooring, attempting to catch your breath. You quieted your harsh panting at the sound of rushed, heavy steps becoming louder from the corridor you had come from, praying she hadn’t heard or seen you. As it was, you could barely hear anything over the pounding of your heart and the heavy whisps of your breath. 

To make matters suddenly worse, there were voices now coming from the direction of the stairwell, the sounds from either side of you making you feel even more trapped. If they came from the stairs, they would surely be able to see you in the alcove. 

There was a door across the way from your hiding spot that caught your attention as the footfalls stopped short of your location, your legs trembling slightly as you did your best to keep quiet. When you had first ran through, the panel had been like the others you’d passed, red and inaccessible. Now, it was glowing a gentle green. It was the only chance you had, and you had to take it. 

As soon as the echo of heavy footfalls as well as the burley visage of the Russian woman passed without so much as a glance into your hiding spot, you quietly slid from the area and swiftly moved to the other side of the brightly lit, open space, pressing on the holo-panel and almost jumping in joy when the door slid open. You practically threw yourself in the room, starting just slightly and turning when the door immediately closed and the holo-panel on the inside changed from green to red. Regardless, you leaned your forehead heavily against the cool metal frame, heart pounding as you caught your breath once more. 

For a few sweet, exhilarating seconds, relief flooded your system. 

“Hello there!” 

You whipped around with a sharp inhale, wide eyes meeting a pair of surprised brown ones, and then finding those of narrowed, vibrant yellow behind squared, wire spectacles. A man of color and an ape that looked more than ready to give chase if you decided to run back out. 

There was no way you were getting out of this, you realized with bone-deep dread. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, having to choose either being caught now or within the next few seconds, if you were to attempt running again. Doing so could mean death, or had a possibility of triggering _that_ side of you, and that was the last thing you wanted to happen. Hadn’t you hurt enough people already? 

Maybe death was a better escape, or would have been, had you not had another agenda. You only hoped you remembered after the reprogramming. 

“I’m not armed,” you blurted out, lips trembling and hands nearly shaking as you raised them up and away from yourself slightly to show open, empty palms. “I promise…I promise I’ll cooperate, and do whatever you say, but please don’t attack! I can’t…I d-don’t want to…please!” 

You were on the verge of tears, and your voice was wavering terribly, and damnit, you hated that they could see you like that. The sting at the corners of your eyes was damning enough, and could feel that horrid knot of tension form in your throat, thick with fear and regret and anger at your precarious predicament. 

“Whoa, hey, no one’s attacking anyone,” the man replied carefully, eyes cutting over to the ape dressed in fancy looking armor. There was a silent agreement that passed between them in that moment, one you didn’t understand, perhaps weren’t meant to. When the man’s gaze moved back to you, it was filled with a warmth and understanding that you hadn’t been expecting. 

“I’m sorry if we scared you. Winston over there may look big and bad, but he’s a big ol’ softy.” 

There was a scoff from the ape-man, his nostrils flaring out as if indignant at being called out. You took the action more as a threat and backed up, now flush against the door you had entered. 

“Hey now, it’s okay,” the man spoke slowly as he stepped closer, hands coming up in a mimic of what you had done previously. He was treating you like a scared animal, as if one wrong move would make you bolt away. It was still a possibility, though there wasn’t anywhere else for you to go. 

“I’m Lúcio,” he said with a smile, hand coming up to pat at his chest before he swept his arm back to properly introduce the other, “and this guy here is Winston.” 

He gave you a hopeful, expecting look, and it took you a moment to realize he was waiting on you to give your name. That was…something you should have expected, probably should have given much sooner. 

“Number 13,” you said quickly, earning a frown from the dark man before you. There was a moment’s panic where you tried to remember the rest of the information you were supposed to give. 

“Under…under Dr. Kingwood, ah, experiment two- ah, shit, um, 257-A, injection three-” 

“Whoa, hold on, that’s not…I don’t know what any of that means. Honestly, not even sure I wanna know. Do you know your _real_ name?” 

“My real name?” you questioned, confused and thrown through a loop you weren’t expecting. Lúcio gave you a nod of encouragement. _What was your real name, again?_

“It’s…it’s (Y/n), I think,” you said carefully, your own name feeling foreign rolling off your tongue and in your ears. You hadn’t heard it in so long, it almost didn’t sound real, but it felt right to say. 

All at once, a certain tension in the man’s shoulders eased, and Lúcio was giving you a kind look that was even easing your anxious tremble you hadn’t been aware was becoming an issue. 

“(Y/n),” he tested, changing the pitch and drawing out the syllables several times in a sort of tune, smile wide. “Now, that’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Much better than a number.” 

You gave a hesitant nod of your head, finding yourself more confused by the second. It really did sound good the way he had drawn it out, looping the syllables and giving your name a pleasant, humming melody you could still hear in your head, but what did he gain out of doing it? Why was he doing any of this, being so kind and reaching out to you like he was doing when you should have been taken in for reprogramming by now? What were they waiting on? 

“Call it a hunch, but you look like the type of person who enjoys music.” 

“Music?” you questioned, unable to hide the hopeful lilt in that one word and nearly damning yourself for giving him any sort of leverage against you. Lúcio heard, however, noticed the way your face lit up at the mention of music, and his kind smile brightened at the hopefulness in your voice. He stepped even closer while holding out a hand to you. 

“I think I’ve got something you might like. Granted, it’s still a work in progress, but I think you’ll dig it, if you’d like to have a listen.” 

You looked down at his outstretched hand before your eyes roamed back to his face, his smile never wavering or twisting as he patiently waited for whatever decision you made. You glanced over at Winston, his bright eyes observant and expression rather neutral as he watched your interaction carefully. It seemed the break in tension from earlier had affected him, too, as he was much calmer than when you first entered the room, or it seemed that way, at least. 

For the moment, you allowed yourself to calm and relax your stiffened muscles, knowing you would need to be prepared for whatever was in store for you now. 

Giving a short nod of your head, you reached up slowly and placed your hand in Lúcio’s. His eyes softened at the corners as his fingers wound around yours, gently tugging and guiding you over to a set of three monitors and other equipment you couldn’t put a name to. There was a set of headphones hanging from one of the monitors, wireless and colored in brilliant shades of green and blue. He reached for them and handed them over to you, encouraging you with a grin to put them on while simultaneously leaning down to better look at the screens. 

You pulled the device over your head, hands resting on the rounded pieces against your ears as you eyed the man now pressing a few buttons and adjusting some sort of holographic dials projecting slightly from the screen. He then looked to you with his thumb turned up, and shortly after, a low melody flooded through the speakers. 

The sound was hauntingly beautiful, with a low bass that picked up as the melody did. You could practically feel the gently thrumming beat in your chest as the lovely sounds surrounded your senses. You’d been so caught up in it for a time, you hadn’t realized that you’d relaxed to the point of closing your eyes until you opened them again to look at a pleased Lúcio. 

“It’s…very lovely,” you commented almost breathlessly, pulling back one of the ear cuffs to better hear his reply. 

“I had a feeling you’d like it. It’s a bit different than my normal sound, but I think it’s coming along nicely.” 

“You made this?” you questioned, voice filled with wonder and eyes lighting up. This earned you a short, cheery laugh from Lúcio. 

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s still a work in progress. I can show you my other beats, if you’d like? No obligation, of course, and definitely no catches.” 

“I..I think I would like that.” 

You could feel the stirrings of a smile forming on your lips as the song came to its crescendo, when you as well as the other two occupants in the room startled at the door sliding open, a young woman with short brown hair and a brightly colored suit darting in with a panicked look across her face. You panicked, as well, and jumped from the chair, quickly removing the headphones and preparing for the worst-case scenario. 

“Winston! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I lost her, I lost- oh!” 

She paused abruptly with a gasp, eyes catching sight of you across the room. About that time, the burley Russian woman from before came up behind her, as well as two other individuals you hadn’t yet seen before. You were tense all over again. This was surely what they were waiting for. 

“Well, heh, looks like you found her!” the woman said with a tittering giggle, rubbing at her neck nervously. There was a low growl that followed from Winston, more frustrated than threatening, though it still had you jumping in place and taking refuge behind Lúcio. Then, he spoke for the first time since you’d found your way into the room. 

“I believe it’s time we have a talk about what’s going on, before anything more gets out of hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for all the encouragement!
> 
> As always, see ya in the next chapter!


	3. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talked to you as if you were familiar to everything around you.
> 
> You didn't know them, but one of them certainly seemed to know you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might could break a heart or two.

McCree wasn’t one to dream often, if at all. It was hard to enter a deep sleep when his awareness was always high; he was lucky to get a decent night’s sleep without jumping awake at least twice during his time of rest. It wasn’t that he felt uncomfortable in his room within the base, as he was amongst comrades, friends, people he trusted. Instinct was a hard thing to shake, however, even in the most secure of places. 

Most dreams he did have were dark, hellish nightmares, often depicting very twisted versions of things long past, of the people he had killed at a young age, to gruesome reenactments of things he had only heard by ear, but had imagined so vividly at the time that the made up images had haunted him for a long time. 

On those nights, he was never too far away from a hard bottle of liquor to chase his demons away. 

This time around, however, he’d been exhausted enough -and just two shots away from having his vision swim- to fall into a sound sleep for five hours straight. He could have slept longer, definitely needed to, was on the very urge of falling into that rare, vivid abyss of a, for once, pleasant dreamland, if not for the pounding at his door forcing him awake and more aware than any person should have been coming out of such an alcohol-induced slumber. 

He reached for Peacekeeper without a second thought and stood from his bed with a grumble, taking the time to stretch and steady himself. He didn’t feel there was an immediate threat, and he learned to trust his instincts a long time ago, but it was good to be prepared. 

The pounding at his door started up again, however, louder this time, followed by the call of his name. He gave a short hum of mild amusement as he moved to the door and opened it using the side panel to find Tracer peering in at him. His brows furrowed at her strangely serious expression. 

“Lena,” he greeted, voice gruff from sleep, with a tip of his head forward, realizing in that instance that he had forgotten his hat and probably had bed head something fierce. The action had the Brit smiling, all the same, her expression relaxing considerably. 

“Sorry to disturb you, Jesse,” she began, “I wouldn’t have woken you if it wasn’t important-” 

“Is it (Y/n)?” he interrupted abruptly, mentally cursing himself for jumping the gun -he wiggled Peacekeeper haphazardly in his grip at the pun, the movement subconscious-. He was still dazed from having just woken up, still a little hazed over from the whiskey, or so he told himself. It was a perfectly viable excuse for his sudden outburst, and he intended to stick with, should he need to explain himself. 

“Yes, actually,” Tracer replied, looking just a tad amused at McCree’s expense. “She’s awake now, and doing as fine as one can expect, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” 

“I’m not,” he said quickly, following up his words with an outward groan while rubbing the side of his beard in exasperation, the cool metal of his prosthetic feeling rather nice against his flushing face. If he wanted to be anywhere near controlled when in the presence of others, he was gonna need at least a few more hours of sleep. At least. 

“Sure you’re not, love,” Tracer teased lightly before her expression dropped, took on that serious tone he had seen just moments ago. McCree’s mild embarrassment was forgotten in that moment as a frown reached his lips with the pilot’s change in character. 

“There was a small incident a few minutes ago, and, ah, there may have been a short time where she just... disappeared?” 

“Lena…” 

“We found her!” Tracer was quick to follow up, hands coming up and waving about to dissipate any worry there was over the matter. McCree wasn’t sure it was helping, for either of them. 

“Lúcio was able to calm her down, even got her to relax and talk a little. And then Angela came in for blood work, and, well, that was a whole issue that probably could have been avoided for a bit longer-” 

“Did anyone get hurt?” 

“No, thank goodness, but…well, we had to move her to a holding cell, just to be sure things didn’t get out of hand.” 

A displeased noise escaped McCree before he could stop it, and Tracer was quick to give him a sympathetic look. 

“It’s temporary, you know. She’s scared, probably doesn’t understand what’s happening, poor thing!” 

“I know. Still ain’t too happy about it, but I know it can’t be helped.” 

His tone suddenly grew soft, almost melancholic in nature as he spoke, head bowed to hide his expressive eyes behind shaggy bangs. 

“I was sure she was dead. There wasn’t a trace of her anywhere, nothin’ I could find, and suddenly, she’s just…there.” 

“I can only imagine how you feel,” Tracer spoke lightly, empathizing as best she could. She knew how touchy the subject had been, and though Jesse was plenty open with his friends, there were just some things better left unmentioned until he was ready to mention them. 

A light scoff escaped the sharpshooter. “Don’t reckon I even know what I’m feelin’, at this point. Ain’t had time to fully process this whole mess. Guess I’m just confused right now.” 

Tracer offered a small smile and a tilt of her head. 

“It’s best you get changed, then. Winston’s holding a meeting. If we’re lucky, we’ll find out what’s been going on. Regardless, I’m sure (Y/n) will be happy to see a familiar face.” 

McCree gave a light smile of his own, but if it didn’t quite reach his eyes, Tracer never pointed it out. 

**~*~*~*~**

Despite the fact you still didn’t know where you were or what was going on, you were a bit more comfortable than when you awoke to unfamiliar territory in the med bay. Granted, you were now in a holding cell, surrounded by hard-light constructed walls, but it wasn’t like you weren’t used to it. The chair wasn’t too uncomfortable, and you had company to keep yourself occupied from wayward thoughts. 

For whatever reason, Lúcio had taken a liking to you and insisted he stay to ensure you weren’t left alone. Whether that implied keeping a close eye on you or just genuinely wanting to keep you company was entirely up to debate, though Winston seemed on-board with the man’s suggestion, at least until they could figure out what to do with you, or so you guessed. 

If not for the calm, cheerful presence of the Brazilian sitting beside you on the opposite side of the hard-light wall, keeping your mind occupied with silly and easy banter, you would surely be a mess. As it was, you were already fighting off the dredges of nervous energy skittering across your skin as if in warning of bad things to come, and not necessarily from the people holding you there, despite having a more than rocky start. 

It wasn’t the doctor’s fault for your freak out earlier when she approached you; she didn’t understand. None of them really did. 

“Hey, it’s okay, just relax,” Lúcio said with a kind smile and a gentle tap of his fingertips against the glass-like structure holding you secure, apparently having the knack for reading you like a book. “You’re among friends here. I know it’s a lot to take in, but trust me on this.” 

You gave a small, hesitant nod at his words, and for now, it was enough. For the next few minutes after, there was a comfortable moment between you, the quiet music playing from Lúcio’s headphones as well as his gentle humming keeping the room from being completely soundless. 

“Why are you so kind to me?” you asked abruptly, turning a confused look to the man beside you. He gave his own look of confusion at your question, as if you had asked why it was he breathed. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

His answer had you dumbfounded for a solid minute. There were so many reasons why he shouldn’t even be within fifty feet of you, let alone show you an inkling of kindness. He didn’t know who you were, what you were capable of. He didn’t know how many had died by your hands, all because of what _they_ had done to you. 

Or maybe…maybe he did. Maybe he, as well as the others, had something to gain from having you captive. Maybe they were after the same thing Talon was. 

You turned your gaze away, feeling your chest tighten with remorse you had learned to suppress, had been forced to do so in order to live just a little bit longer. You didn’t want to think like that. It made you feel guilty, especially since the musician had been nothing but gentle and assuring in everything he did. 

As if to prove the thought , Lúcio reached out a hand and pressed it to the barrier separating you both, the action a comforting support that you didn’t feel you deserved, but very much appreciated. You were hesitant, but you reciprocated the gesture, reaching over to press your palm against the glass, right against where his was. His smile was so very genuine. 

“Where am I?” you asked after pulling away, thankful that Lúcio hadn’t pushed your previous question any further. “What is this place?” 

“We’re at one of the abandoned Watchpoints,” he answered honestly, looking around the room with a critical eye. “It still needs a little work, but it sure beats what it looked like before.” 

“Watchpoint? Watchpoint for what?” 

“Well, I’m not completely sure what it was used for beforehand, besides a transfer point and a safety zone for agents between bases, but now it’s our place of operation for Overwatch.” 

“Overwatch?” 

Lúcio gave you a curious look, smile faltering at the confusion your gaze held before he realized his mistake. 

“Oh! You probably didn’t know, my bad! Overwatch got back together a little over a year ago. There’s some familiar faces around here that I’m sure you’ll be happy to see, plus a lot of new ones eager to help out. I know I was when I first joined.” 

“Familiar faces? How would I know anyone here?” 

Lúcio shifted in his seat, now feeling like the confused one in the conversation. 

“Because you worked with them? Or, well, some of them, for sure. From my understanding, you were part of Overwatch before it disbanded, one of the best hand-to-hand combatants this side of the world, apparently. I’ve heard a few stories.” 

Lúcio gave an amused chuckle, though upon seeing the flittering mix of confusion and uncertainty on your face, he backtracked. 

“You, uh, remember all that, don’t you?” 

You shook your head slowly, chest feeling tight, for some reason. 

“Lúcio, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” 

At that moment, the door to the room slid open, revealing a small group of people you recognized from earlier. Your eyes immediately fell on the blonde woman leading everyone inside -Angela, if you recalled correctly- and you were out of your seat and as far back as the hard-light prison allowed you to be. Lúcio was up out of his seat just as quickly, moving closer to your side, even though the wall of hard light kept him separated from you. 

That feeling of being caged in was much more prominent when there was an actual threat present. 

“You, you stay away from me,” you nearly spat at the doctor, voice trembling as you attempted to hide your fear behind anger. Your insistence was met with her hands coming up in the air, her gaze softening considerably. You didn’t trust it. 

“I am merely here as support, should my assistance be needed. It was not my intention to frighten you earlier, (Y/n).” 

“Heard that before. Excuse me if I don’t believe you.” 

“I assure you that I want nothing but the best for those under my care. That includes you.” 

You bristled at her words, the fine hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end. 

“I am _not_ your patient!” 

“C'mon, darlin', no need to be so harsh on Angela like that.” 

Your gaze flittered over the other woman beside the doctor -Tracer, you think her name was…or was it Lena? Both?- and to the tall man standing behind them who had just spoken, his eyes hidden behind the wide brim of a dusty looking cowboy hat. Now focused on the man, your mind began putting together the brief memory of seeing him before, his visage almost hazy amongst the dead bodies that seemed to fill your vision even more, the dead operatives that had been after you before he arrived. He’d somehow broken you out of that state of murderous intent, had called out to you and risked his safety, hands outstretched and voice a calm lull in your mind. 

He had said your name then…hadn’t he? How did he know? 

Tracer noticed how your gaze lingered on the cowboy, apparently, because she was quick to get his attention with a swift elbow to his side. A quiet grunt left him before he looked up, tired eyes mildly glaring at the short brunette before panning over to you. 

He looked…so sad, so tired. 

The two women stepped back as the man came closer to your holding cell, spurred boots chinking lightly with each step. Even Lúcio moved away a bit, though kept relatively close, eyeing you and then the cowboy with wide eyes that were turning melancholic…. 

Why was everyone so-? 

“(Y/n).” 

Your attention turned back to the man, his dark eyes looking you over with reverence, and it felt so strange to be under his intense stare. He wasn’t looking you up so much as taking in every detail of your form as if committing it to memory. His gaze finally came to your own, glossy brown eyes holding an array of emotions you couldn’t comprehend, there were so many. He looked near ready to cry. 

“You’re awake,” he spoke again, voice gruff and low and rather pleasant to your ears, something of which you definitely wouldn’t admit aloud. “That…shit, that’s good. That’s real good, sugar.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you blurted out, finding the endearment, when spoken the way he had used it, too intimate for your liking. You almost regretted saying anything at all, thinking for a moment that it was some sort of test you were being put through. Maybe this man was the leader, despite Winston seemingly in charge of things. You were surprised, however, when your statement was met with a low, hollow chuckle. 

“Sorry, sorry, I just…I shoulda known you’d be angry, but I couldn’t help myself. Ain’t like I deserve your forgiveness, not after what happened back in Dorado. But hell, if I ain’t the happiest man alive to see you.” 

“Dorado?” you breathed out, the name sounding familiar. It must have been a town of some sort, but the more you tried to think about it, the more the word slipped from your mental grasp. You couldn’t place why it seemed familiar, like the mere mention of its name felt like a moment of deja-vu that was quickly slipping from your memory. It made your head hurt. 

“I followed them for miles,” he continued, explaining himself over a situation you knew nothing about. “I lost sight of ‘em, lost their tracks. Any trace of where they were headin’ disappeared as suddenly as they showed up. I looked for you for months, followed any leads I could, and then I found your ring, and- heh, I’d be damned if I didn’t believe that wasn’t a sign you were gone for good.” 

“My…ring? What are you-? 

“McCree, hold up,” Lúcio spoke up suddenly, but the cowboy, _McCree,_ continued as if he hadn’t heard the Brazilian, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out a silver band with a single stone in the middle. It was beautiful in its simplicity, but you didn’t recognize it as being yours. 

Your hands were beginning to tremble, you were so suddenly overwhelmed with not knowing what was going on. 

“Found it in an old factory that looked like it was quickly abandoned. Almost didn’t see the damn thing, but it was there, mockin’ me for not gettin’ there sooner. Damn near threw it across the building, I was so angry at myself for lettin’ any of this happen to you. And when Overwatch banded back together, it damn near killed me havin’ to tell the others you were gone.” 

He gripped the piece of jewelry in his fist momentarily, head bowing for a brief time so that he could collect himself. His grief was almost palpable in the air, and it was suffocating. 

“Y’know better ‘n anyone else that I’m not the best with words, not in this sort of situation. But, honey, if you can ever forgive me-” 

“Stop it…stop talking to me like you've known me for years. I don’t know what you’re even talking about!” 

McCree looked up then, eyes wide and confused and _hurt_ as he looked at you. It was a struggle to keep eye contact without succumbing to tears of frustration and misunderstanding. 

“McCree, she doesn’t remember Overwatch,” Lúcio spoke up once more, gaining the cowboy’s attention. 

“What? She don’t-?” 

“Stop talking like I’m not here!” you shouted suddenly, finally giving in to the tears that prickled at your eyes, mind too overwhelmed and head nearly throbbing with the attempt at taking everything in all at once. You were emotionally and mentally compromised, and you did not like it. 

“(Y/n),” the cowboy spoke gently, but you turned on him quickly, shocking everyone with your outburst. 

“I don’t know where I am, or what you want from me, but I don’t know what the hell this ‘Overwatch’ business is, and I sure as hell don’t know _you_! So quit acting like you know me and just…just reprogram me, or sell me to the highest bidder, or just…just leave me alone!” 

McCree's eyes went wide for a moment as he tried to search yours, hoping for some sort of familiarity aimed at him, but finding none. He lowered his head, hiding his gaze once more before taking a step back. 

“’m sorry,” he murmured, hand still clenched as he reached up with his prosthetic and tipped his hat. “My mistake.” 

McCree took another step back before turning away, his footsteps sounding heavy in your ears as he moved past the women and right out the door. Tracer was behind him with a concerned call of “Jesse, wait!” Angela looked upset, as well, and Lúcio gave a heavy sigh from beside you. All you could do was look to the ground, trying to will the ache in your head as well as the tight feeling in your chest to ease. 

If it was possible to see a heart break, you were pretty sure you had just seen one shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! I'm hoping your enjoying it thus far!
> 
> As always, see ya in the next chapter!


	4. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse recounts the day he lost you, and possibly for good, to a concerned friend.
> 
> You struggle to understand what this organization really wants from you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while, but here's chapter 4! Lots of dialogue, and just a peek into what happened to Reader.
> 
> Enjoy!

Genji knew nearly better than anyone else that when Jesse didn’t want to be found, the sharpshooter knew how to disappear. It was quite the talent, one that helped him out greatly in his younger years and had been a steeple in his tactics when training in Blackwatch. Even now, he was fairly adept at it, if Tracer's frantic concern was anything to go by. 

Luckily, Genji knew the perfect place to find the cowboy, as there was really only one place he would be during this time of day. After all, the rooftops were a wonderful perch to enjoy the sunset. They were also a safe escape for those who wanted time to themselves, time to think or grieve, time to de-stress and unwind from the daily hardships that occurred within Overwatch. 

McCree was one to take advantage of the solace in a colorful sky. 

Genji was quiet when he stepped on to the flat rooftop, though made his steps purposefully heard, so as not to startle his friend. There was the slightest turn of McCree's head in the cyborg's direction before his focus was back on the vibrant hues of the skyline. It seemed Genji's presence was a welcomed one, and he took the opportunity for what it was by joining his distraught friend, sitting beside him at the edge of the building. 

There was silence between them, but in that moment, there was no need for words. Genji could nearly feel the way McCree trembled beneath his skin, could see from his peripheral how gun toughened fingers fiddled with a shiny band of silver almost offhandedly, like he had done so time and again. His shoulders were hunched in, defensive, it seemed, even with his open admiring of the sunset. 

Genji had seen his friend like this before, but never broached the subjected matter head-on. It was something McCree had to work through on his own terms, and with enough patience, it would come out in the gentle form of woeful words. 

The sun made its trek past the horizon, the sky much darker but still casting brilliant neon shades behind the fiery star's escape, before McCree spoke. 

“She don’t remember anythin’,” he began quietly, voice rough and catching on a few syllables. “Overwatch, Dorado… _me._ She don’t remember a lick of any of it. Made a damn fool of myself tryin’ to apologize for everythin’ I did wrong, but I could see it in her eyes. I’m just a stranger who done lost his mind.” 

Genji remained quiet, knowing there would be more for McCree to say. He continued to watch his friend from his peripheral, following his fiddling fingers as he pocketed the piece of jewelry, then ran his hand across his face as he gave a heavy sigh. He was still exhausted from lack of proper rest, and this sudden bout of stress and unease would only worsen such insomnia. Genji worried for him. 

“I ain’t ever told anyone what happened,” McCree started up again, eyes roaming up to gaze at the first spattering of stars coming out. Genji took that moment to turn his attention fully to McCree, gentle in the opportunity presented to him. 

“If you’re wanting to, I am more than willing to listen.” 

Another sigh passed the cowboy’s lips, his eyes closing as he lowered his head. Genji fully expected a long bout of silence along with McCree’s rejection of talking about his troubles. To his surprise, the sharpshooter began speaking, a steady recount of what had been locked away in his mind for over two years now coming out in a slow, easy drawl. 

“We were in Dorado. (Y/n)’s brother asked for her to come down and was adamant on makin’ sure I was with her. Would have been, anyways, but it was enough cause to worry, at least to me.” 

“I didn’t know (Y/n) had a brother,” Genji confessed with a curious lilt to his voice, and even in the last rays of dying light, in the soft green glow of his own body's panels, he could see McCree's bittersweet smile. 

“I forget you only knew her for a short time. She's got an older brother, Samuel, real smart-like and quick as a bullet. He never joined Overwatch like (Y/n) did, only ‘cause he planned on takin’ over their parents' pharmaceutical company when they were ready to retire. I never met her folks, but she talked highly of ‘em. 

“Anyhow, Sam needed her there for something; I can’t ever remember the whole bit, but it was important. Her parents were away on some business-related venture, and he needed her to bring in some documents from another of their pharmacies over five thousand miles out, one that we were conveniently close too, actually. 

“So we pick up the documents, and we get to Dorado the day before a big festival-type thing going on, a celebration of spring. She was so damn excited for it, even moreso that we’d get to see it together. I swear, I ain’t ever seen a prettier sight in all my years than (Y/n) smilin’ up at me under all them lights. ‘Bout brought me to my knees.” 

His nostalgic smile suddenly soured into a grimace, one that Genji realized led the pleasant story into the hellish memory McCree had kept locked away. 

“I can’t recall what rightfully started everythin’, but I knew somethin’ wasn’t right from the get-go. Sam was actin' all sorts of funny, kept tryin' to stall us from joinin’ the fun, but (Y/n) wasn’t havin’ any of it. Right before we left, he gave me this _look_ …I think he knew what was gonna happen. 

“For a while, everythin' was fine, enough that I wasn’t any more cautious than I shoulda been. Then there was screamin', and some gunfire, and the whole street was suddenly a stampede of scared people tryin’ to get away. There were so many unmarked operatives, so suddenly, and with civilians scramblin’ around like chickens with their heads cut off, there wasn’t much we could do. We tried, but shit was chaotic, and I wasn’t about to let (Y/n) out of my sight. 

“Enemy ops were pluckin’ up people left and right the whole time this was goin’ on. I shot when I could, but I could only do so much, and (Y/n) didn’t have a weapon on her. There were too many, we were severely outnumbered, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I left-” 

McCree’s voice wavered dangerously, his words dying off as he attempted to get himself together. Genji reached out a hand and placed it on the cowboys shoulder, squeezing firmly. It was a grounding motion that had the sharpshooter breathing in deeply and nodding appreciatively. Being pulled back into such an intense memory was breaking him down in a way he hadn’t felt in some time. 

“You don’t have to continue, Jesse,” Genji spoke in gentle assurance. “There is no obligation to do so.” 

“It ain’t s'posed to be so hard, talkin’ about this sort of thing,” McCree said, looking at Genji with a grimace as the cyborg pulled away. “Feels childish to be skirtin’ around it.” 

“Everyone handles distress differently, but it is by no means any more or less difficult, nor does it make you any more or less of a man for holding it in or letting it out. You know how I was when our paths first crossed. Anger, bitterness, hate- those were the only emotions I knew, for a good while, even when you attempted to befriend me.” 

“It wasn’t so easy, what with you always ready to fight them first few months,” Jesse recalled, the barest hint of a smile lilting his lips, “but you came around.” 

“And you will, too, in your own time. There is no rush to process your own feelings on the matter, even if those feelings leave you angry. It’s the natural process of healing. You have already done so much towards that healing, telling me what you have.” 

Jesse stared at his friend for a long moment, eyes crinkling with the genuine smile that finally managed to worm its way across his lips. He tipped his hat forward in thanks, turning back to the stars covering the dark sky overhead. 

“You sure have come a long way since Blackwatch, partner. Reckon Zen’s been a mighty good influence on ya.” 

Genji perked at the praise. Indeed, Master Zenyatta had been and continued to be a wonderful mentor. He couldn’t begin to thank the omnic monk enough for everything he had helped with, and, if given the chance, Genji could sing his praises to anyone interested. Now was not the time to reflect, however, as the cyborg became aware of the shift in the air, the change back into somberness and heated frustration that clung to McCree like fog. His smile turned sad, then disappeared altogether. 

“I left her behind, Genji. I thought…hell, I don’t know what I thought, maybe that keepin’ her away would also keep her safe? Ain’t like she couldn’t hold her own, but there were too many to be pickin’ fights with up close, not when guns were involved. So I left her in some alcove, told her to just stay there, ‘n I’d be back in a jiffy. 

“I don’t know if it was planned, but it sure as hell felt like it, like they were waitin' on us gettin' separated. I heard her yellin’ out for her brother like she'd heard him call to her, and then she was screamin' for me. They were swarmin' that alcove like bees on honey, and I saw her take down a few of ‘em before they got ahold of her. I coulda stopped it, I could've, but I was distracted. Fucker got ahold of my flashbang. I was disoriented long enough for the enemy to get the hell outta Dodge. She was gone, and so was Sam, and a handful of others.” 

A light breeze blew across the rooftops, carrying away the warmth the sun had left behind. McCree took that moment to remove his hat, holding it to his chest as he ran cybernetic fingers through the tangled mess of his hair. 

“Five months of searchin’, and all I was able to find was the ring I gave her, spattered in dried blood. I had hope of findin' (Y/n) ‘til that day. I was so sure she was dead, but now…now, she's here. She's alive, and damn, if I ain’t relieved, but I’m also angry at myself. I shoulda paid more attention, dug deeper; hell , I had no clue Talon was behind all this shit because I just gave up. I shoulda kept searchin’, and maybe she wouldn’t be as messed up as she is. Maybe she’d still remember.” 

Silence reigned over the pair for a long stretch of time. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but the air was still tense as McCree sorted through what he was feeling. Genji remained a calm presence, allowing his friend time to figure it all out. The cowboy was decidedly much more at ease than when he found him, if not a bit more haggard. Genji was happy at the improvement, regardless. 

“Best we head inside,” McCree said after a while longer, replacing his hat atop his head as he stood. “Pretty sure we missed the dinner call, and Lena's prob’ly up-the-wall worried that we ain’t showed up yet.” 

“She can be quite the…ah, mother-hen, I believe you call it,” Genji mused, earning a light chuckle from the cowboy. He stood and made to follow McCree inside, only to stop him one last time with a hand to his shoulder. To his credit, McCree looked just on the side of confused by the hold-up when he peeked over his shoulder. 

“This isn’t your fault, Jesse. (Y/n) has suffered greatly, but it is not because of what you did or didn’t do. It seemed that those agents had an agenda, and would have gotten to her, regardless of the actions that took place. Please, don’t give up, now. The (Y/n) you know is still there, even if she has no memory of any of us. It will take time and patience to see it, but I assure you, it’s there. _She_ is there, Jesse.” 

For a moment, McCree looked pained at Genji's words, though he was quick to guard his expression before gently shrugging off the cyborg’s hold. It seemed the time for emotional sharing had passed. 

“Guess we’ll see, then,” McCree murmured, moving forward once more to the latch that led back inside. It was better than no answer at all. 

Silently, Genji followed behind him. 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

“Hey.” 

You looked up abruptly, not having expected to see Lúcio back so soon, or at all, if you were being honest with yourself. He’d left for a moment at the behest of Winston, who had come in for a brief moment to see how things were doing. While he was there, Lúcio encouraged you to ask the few questions that he hadn’t been able to answer for you about Overwatch, of which Winston seemed more than happy to do. 

Despite his odd exuberance during your chat, you were still wary of the gorilla- er, man. He didn’t seem surprised that you had no recollection of the agency and its downfall; if anything, it was as if he expected it. Word of mouth must have gotten around quickly, so he would have anticipated your confusion. It made sense, at least, but no less unsettled you. 

When Lúcio was suddenly pulled from your company for a private chat, however, you were almost sure you wouldn’t be seeing the Brazilian again. You weren’t sure why it took them this long, but they must have finally figured out what to do with you and were discussing how to go about their plan. 

How cruel of them to make Lúcio do the dirty work. 

“Aw, come on, don’t look at me like that,” he said, looking genuinely upset, himself, at the utterly defeated look you must have been sporting. “I promise it’s good news. We got a space cleared out for you! I think you’re gonna like it. Well, after we make it your own, of course.” 

You didn’t understand what he was going on about, but didn’t question him. It would be best to distance yourself now that things were finally playing out. It was a shame; you were really starting to enjoy his demeanor as well as his company, but experience taught you good things never lasted, and to expect it to would only lead to disappointment. 

Lúcio moved to the front of your holding cell, a small panel of hard light popping up at his approach. He pressed in a code that unlocked and opened the constructed door keeping you inside. Fight-or-flight instinct kicked in startlingly fast, but you stamped down the feeling as best you could. 

“There we go! Let’s get you upgraded!” 

He smiled brightly before turning and walking to the main door, not even bothering to pull you from the cell or even checking to see if you were following. You hesitated in your confusion, long enough that Lúcio noticed and turned back to face you, clearly confused, himself. 

“Uh, you good? I mean, no rush or anything, but I figured you’d be more comfortable with a room of your own.” 

“A room of my own?” 

“Yeah! Don’t tell me you thought we were keeping you in that cell the whole time,” Lúcio joked, but at the serious expression you were giving him, his smile wavered considerably. 

“Oh…oh, man, wow, you actually did-? Wait, you still think we're trying to barter you off, don’t you?” 

“If you’re organization isn’t planning on using me, then what else is there?” 

Lúcio gave you a long, hard look as he turned more fully to face you again, baffled at your words. He had apparently not understood just how much you had gone through being under the harsh care of Talon. He still didn’t know much, but no one else did, either. If all the interactions he’d had with you so far were any indication of the hardships you had faced, though, Lúcio wasn’t sure he wanted to know everything. 

“Okay, then,” he said, taking a deep breath while trying to figure out the best way to proceed, “do you wanna take a walk, then?” 

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” 

“You do, actually. I’m not gonna force you to walk around with me if you’d rather stay here, or to do anything else, for that matter.” 

Your eyes widened a fraction, enough that Lúcio noticed and began to piece together just how much your life the last couple of years was dictated by orders and forced contribution. 

“I don’t know what happened to you under Talon's watch, but you’re not a prisoner here, (Y/n). You have a choice.” 

You eyed the Brazilian almost critically, and Lúcio was now aware that you were analyzing his words, trying to find any deception in them. You’d been doing it the whole time, even when you were more scared than frustrated, but he had been preoccupied with easing you and ensuring everything went smoothly. All of your hesitance in everything was becoming much easier to understand. 

He was starting to see the much bigger, much darker picture painted before him, black lines obscuring the bright colors beneath that begged to be shown, but were too saturated in shadows and dark hues to be seen clearly. 

“If I walked out that door right now,” you began slowly, taking careful, silent steps until you were just outside of the holding cell, anxious, “if I found my way out of this place and never looked back, would you let me go?” 

_‘Would you try to kill me if I made an escape?’_

“I’d be happy to lead you out, myself, if you want,” Lúcio offered, keeping his mannerisms light despite how heavy the conversation had turned. “You’re not a prisoner here. And while I’d say you’d be a lot safer with us while Talon is still looking for you, I won’t stop you from leaving, if that’s what you think is best. Though I would ask you to at least let me get a pack ready with some essentials you could take with you. Gotta stay hydrated out there, and some first aid might come in handy.” 

There was a long moment where you stared each other down, you once again fighting the urge to flee with the new opportunity presented to you while Lúcio continued to gain a better grasp of the situation he had found himself in. You were defensive, overly so, but he was starting to see why. 

“You have no idea what they did to me, do you?” 

“Do _you?_ ” he asked, genuinely interested in wanting to know if you remembered most of what took place during your capture. You took his curiosity as mockery and gave a bitter scoff. 

“I’m literally a weapon, made to kill without remorse, without hesitance, at the very first hit against me. Once I start, I can’t be stopped, not until any and all threats against me are neutralized. I tried, but when it happens, I'm…I’m not _me_. I’m barely even human.” 

You looked away suddenly, bitterness turning to self-loathing, and Lúcio was distinctly aware of how much the realization bothered you. 

“I don’t even really know who I am, anymore, or who I used to be. There’s so much I can’t remember, things I was forced to forget. For so long, I suffered, and I-” 

You were clearly becoming distressed by your own words, but you couldn’t stop. The words kept coming, flowing freely as you trembled at the onslaught of emotional pain overtaking you. 

“I don’t know how long I was there, hoping and praying that whatever concoction they shot me up with that day somehow killed me in my sleep, or for one of the others to just end me when we were forced to fight. It felt like an eternity of hell. I don’t even really remember how I escaped, but I ran. I ran until my legs cramped, until my lungs felt like they would collapse because I couldn’t take big enough breaths, and even then, I continued running, because I knew that if they caught me….” 

You gasped sharply at the careful touch to your arm, your hand instinctively reaching out and taking hold of Lúcio's wrist with a hard grip. He barely flinched at the action, seemed prepared for you to lash out at having gotten so close and was preemptively ready for whatever would happen next. When you made no other move against him, he gave a small smile and a careful squeeze to your forearm. 

Expectantly, you waited for the questions. You waited for him to ask you what had been happening while you were captured, what it was you were forced to do, how many people you killed for the “betterment” of experimentation. What you got, instead, made your heart hurt in a way you hadn’t experienced in a while. 

“You’re not a bad person, (Y/n),” he began, kind eyes locked with yours, “just a scared one who doesn’t know what to do, and that’s okay. You're allowed to be scared, and angry, and confused, but you gotta know that you're also strong, and that you don't have to live in that cycle of fear anymore. You may not have all the answers, but if you’ll let me…let _us_ help you, we can figure it out, together. Sound good?” 

Again, you were reminded how lucky you were to have crossed paths with Lúcio. He was a damnably perceptive man, but never seemed to take advantage of the ability, at least not in the way others would have. You didn’t know his story, but to have so much optimism and trust in the good of things…he was a much stronger person than you. 

You gave a small nod and received another bright smile and gentle squeeze to your arm. Your grip on him lessened considerably until you pulled away almost jerkily, feeling bad for having grabbed him like you had. He didn’t seem fazed by it, but you felt guilty for hurting him, regardless. 

“Awesome. Now, you can stay in here, if you like, but I promise you’ll be much more comfortable in the room we got set up for you. Can’t promise you’ll like the color, but we can work on that.” 

This time, he waited on you to give your input with an expectant expression, and you found yourself looking back in the hard light cell. It was where you belonged, away from potentially hurting anyone else. Niceties were fleeting; good things always come to an abrupt and heartbreaking end. 

_‘But is that any way to truly be, to live life in constant fear, to expect everything good to just end as soon as it’s started?’_

You turned back to Lúcio with watery eyes and an uncertain smile, quiet voice just on the side of shaky. 

“Okay.” 

It was all the permission he needed to lead you out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your continued interest and support in this fic. It means so much to me! I look forward to what you guys think of it all.
> 
> As always, see ya around in the next chapter!


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